


One-Shot Collection

by cvsossong



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: I'm just gonna keep adding tags with every one shot I put up here, Multi, One Shot, Robots, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Time Travel, basically this is me narrowing down my prompt list
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:04:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvsossong/pseuds/cvsossong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and drabbles based on prompts from tumblr and AO3 users. Each chapter will have a summary with the rating and any warnings about said chapter, as well as a brief summary. If you are an AO3 user, I will probably gift this work to you. More tags to come as more prompts are written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> Ch. 1- Migraine
> 
> Tumblr anon: Tony gets a migraine and the team mistakes it for a hangover.
> 
> Rating: General Audiences

Tony was dying.

He groaned and fell back in bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. “JARVIS, dim the lights,” he called. “-5%.”

“I will assume you mean 0%, sir.” The room went pitch black in an instant. Tony peeked an eye open.

“Still not dark enough,” he muttered. “JARVIS, remind me to find something that’s blacker than black and put it up around the room, okay?”

“Of course, sir. Might I suggest painkillers?”

“Too much effort.” Still, Tony sat up with a groan and groped around blindly until he found a small bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. He swallowed four dry and fell back again.

“Tell the team I’m out of commission,” he mumbled. “Got a migraine again.”

\--------------------

Steve stirred his coffee and frowned up at the ceiling. “What do you mean Tony’s ‘unavailable?”

“Mr. Stark has a headache at the moment and is unavailable to take any calls with the team,” JARVIS replied.

Clint glanced up from the couch and squinted in suspicion. “How’d he get the headache?” he asked.

“I would assume a headache could emerge from any number of Mr. Stark’s habits. Lack of sleep, dehydration, obscene amounts of caffeine—”

“Or a hangover,” Natasha interrupted. She looked vaguely murderous. “He’s drinking again, isn’t he?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge any information concerning Mr. Stark’s—”

“He _is_ drinking,” Clint hissed. “He was supposed to stay sober, he said he was doing well. ‘Doing well’ my ass.”

Steve tried to feel angry about the situation, but all that he could conjure up was a slightly bitter feeling of disappointment. Three months ago Tony had come forward and announced to the team that he was quitting alcohol cold turkey. The team had been nothing but supportive. They rarely drank around him, and never enough to get tipsy. Steve really had thought that Tony was doing _well._

Okay. So maybe Steve was a little angry about it.

“I’m going to talk to him,” he said abruptly. He pushed back his chair with a loud squeak and stalked towards the elevator. “Honestly, of all the idiotic things he’s ever done, this has to take the cake.”

“Captain Rogers, I should inform you—”

“Save it, JARVIS,” he cut in. “Just take me to his floor.”

Tony’s floor was almost completely dark when Steve arrived. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the flashlight on it, grimacing at the thought of why it was so dark. _Probably got so hammered last night the light was hurting his eyes,_ he thought bitterly.

“Tony!” he called. “Tony, you can’t hide away like this, come on out or I’m going to start turning on lights.” Maybe that was a little too harsh, but Steve was feeling betrayed and slightly petulant about the whole situation.

“Captain, Mr. Stark is currently sleeping in his room,” JARVIS said in a low tone. “However, I will ask you—”

“I’m not going easy on him. He’s pulled this stunt too many times, he doesn’t just get to lie to us about this and then come up here and drink himself stupid.”

Steve pushed Tony’s bedroom door open and flipped a light on. “Come on, Tony, get up,” he said.

Tony groaned as he was pulled from his sleep and flipped over on his stomach. “Steve?” he mumbled. “Steve, what the hell?”

“Honestly, Tony, I thought you were better than this,” Steve replied. He sat in a chair by Tony’s bed and crossed his arms, glaring at the genius. “You promised me you were doing better.”

Tony sat up, wincing at the lights. “The hell are you talking about?” he asked crossly. “I told JARVIS to tell the team I had a headache.”

“You promised, Tony,” Steve repeated. He leaned forward and sighed. “You promised you wouldn’t do this.”

Tony blinked at him blankly. “Sorry, Cap, I can’t really control when I get a headache,” he said at last.

Steve rubbed his temples. “You can control when you get a hangover, not that you seem to care,” he bit out. “You just told me yesterday you haven’t touched a drink in three months, that you were making progress and I believed you, I actually thought that—”

“Wait, hang on,” Tony interrupted. He rubbed one eye with the palm of his hand and blinked again. “You… think I’m hungover?”

“Why else would you have a headache?” Steve asked. “You never get headaches unless you’re hungover.”

“Did JARVIS read you the list?” Tony asked. He sat up a bit more and rested his elbows on his knees. “’Cause JARVIS has a list. I get migraines a lot, from overthinking and under-eating and dehydration and lack of sleep and about a million other things.”

Steve paused, frowning as he thought about it. “Which one was it this time?” he asked finally.

“Probably lack of sleep,” Tony replied. He half- glared at Steve and fell back in the bed again. “Seriously, can you please turn off those fucking lights? It’s bad enough you came barging in here accusing me of the one bad habit that I actually managed to quit, adding the bright lights to it is just insulting.”

Steve jumped up and immediately switched the lights off. He sat next to the bed again and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank God, I was so worried—”

“Maybe next time you should listen to JARVIS,” Tony muttered. He curled into his pillow and stared at Steve. “Do you really think that badly of me?” he asked a moment later.

“I was worried we hadn’t been doing enough to help you,” Steve replied. “Or that you were lying to us again, which I never wanted. I just want to help, Tony, I can’t do that if you’re lying to me—”

“But I _wasn’t_ lying,” Tony said crossly. “I’ve got a bitch of a migraine, but I haven’t touched alcohol in three months, and trust me when I tell you that’s some kind of record.”

Steve clicked his jaw and absently reached out to brush his fingers over Tony’s. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was just worried about you, I didn’t mean to come off so angrily.”

Tony huffed and buried his face back into the pillow. “You owe me coffee after this, Rogers,” he mumbled. “Making me out to be the bad guy like that.”

“I feel like coffee is the last thing you need to get over a migraine.”

“Yeah, well, you owe me some anyway.”

“Fine.” Steve continued stroking Tony’s fingers as he quietly called up to JARVIS, “Tell the team it really is just a migraine.”


	2. Tony's Disaster Robot Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr anon: All of Tony’s first attempts at robots from when he was younger just wandering around in the Tower trying to perform simple tasks and Steve’s reaction to them (and they’re all complete failures).
> 
> Rating: General Audiences

Steve watched the clunky, vacuum-shaped robot wheel across the floor and straight into a table. “Is it supposed to do that?” he asked carefully.

Tony glanced up from where he was bent over another robot—this one flat and more boxy in shape—and frowned. “Jesus Christ, can’t you hold still for two minutes?” he muttered at the robot. It let out a faint squeaking noise that reminded Steve of a rubber duck and wheeled back towards Tony, bumping into several more pieces of furniture along the way. “Christ, stop, you are an absolute disaster.”

“What is it supposed to do?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged and bent over the box-shaped robot again. “When I was younger, there was a kid at my school who was blind,” he explained. “I… I built it to guide him. Like a seeing eye dog.”

Steve watched the robot hit a shoe and flip over onto its back with a pitiful squeal. “Is it supposed to do that?”

“Just assume for the moment that none of them do what they’re _supposed_ to do,” Tony replied.

A tiny, spider-like robot crawled over and nudged Steve’s leg insistently. When Steve bent down to its level, it scuttled away and returned with a small sliver of wood balanced precariously on top of its body. Steve picked up the wood, and the robot scuttled back a few steps before turning back to him almost expectantly.

“What does this one do?” Steve asked, eyeing the wood. It looked like it came from one of the floorboards, though Steve couldn’t imagine how the tiny thing had managed to pry one of those up.

“I built that to get small objects from under the couch and in between cushions,” Tony said.

“Well, he got a small object.”

Tony peered over the edge of his glasses and rolled his eyes when he saw what Steve was holding. “He wants to play fetch,” he muttered.

Steve bit back a grin and tossed the sliver of wood away. “Fetch? You built a robot shaped like a spider that turned out to act like a dog?”

“Don’t judge me, I was nine years old.”

The spider-robot scurried off after the wood and returned a moment later, triumphantly dragging the wood behind him. Steve ignored the fact that this piece of wood was significantly larger than the first one he’d thrown. “Thank you very much,” he said to the spider. It tapped his thumb twice and hurried off to disappear behind a lamp.

Steve turned to Tony and saw him snap a lid back on the box-robot’s control panel. “Why are all these robots out right now?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “I… I found them, down in my workshop,” he said. “They used to be in Malibu, before that whole business with the Mandarin went down—”

Steve shuddered at the name. He had watched the news reports during that incident, and had been nearly inconsolable when the media announced that Tony was apparently dead. He still hated to think about it.

Tony set the box-robot down, ignoring Steve’s involuntary reaction. “Anyways, I had them moved here and they’ve just been sitting around collecting dust. And then I was feeling sentimental so I turned them on. And now they’re a fucking mess.”

The box-robot seemed to just lie on the ground. Steve was about to ask what it did, or how it even _moved,_ when suddenly it flipped on to its side and then over to lie flat again. It did this several times until, somehow, it had made its way over to Steve.

“Dear God, they’re _bonding_ with you. My disasters actually like you, this is terrible.” Tony sounded vaguely horrified, but Steve just grinned and reached out to pat the box encouragingly.

“Don’t listen to him,” he murmured. “I don’t think you’re a disaster at all.”

The box-robot didn’t make a sound, but it flipped on its side and then over so it landed directly on Steve’s lap. He laughed and patted it again. “That was very well done, good for you.”

“Don’t encourage them!” Tony protested. “What am I even saying, you can’t _talk_ to my robots. They’re not that advanced, Steve, they aren’t capable of advanced thought like that.”

“Dum-E’s an early robot of yours, and he understands advanced thought,” Steve replied.

“Dum-E was a _college_ robot. I made these things in, like, middle school and early high school. They’re not AIs, they probably can’t even hear you.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings.”

“That’s exactly what it means!”

The spider-robot reappeared and nested itself on Steve’s shoulder. Steve couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be glaring defiantly at Tony.

Tony took his glasses off and glared right back. “Don’t you give me that look, you know it’s true—” He paused and blinked slowly. “My God. I’m talking to them now, too,” he said after a moment.

“We should name them,” Steve replied. He patted the spider-robot with one finger and frowned in thought. “How about I call you ‘Richard’?” The robot swayed from side to side. “No? Would you prefer a girl’s name?”

Tony groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered.

The spider-robot ignored him and bounced up and down on Steve’s shoulder. He laughed. “Alright, girl name it is. How about ‘Billie?” Another bounce, and then the spider—Billie—scurried down Steve’s arm and into Tony’s lap. Steve turned to the box-robot on his lap. “And how about ‘Bing’ for you?”

The box-robot flipped on its side, closer to Steve. “Excellent,” he grinned. “So Billie and Bing, and the vacuum-shaped one can be ‘Bessie’—" Steve heard a squeak of approval come from the area around the kitchen— "and that one that I can’t find right now, the one shaped like a Roomba, it can be ‘Bennett’.”

“Are you…” Tony paused and grinned. “Are you naming them after 1940s singers?”

Steve shrugged innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are, aren’t you? You’re naming my disaster-robots after famous 1940s singers, you bastard.”

Steve patted Bing’s wider side and shrugged again. “Technically Tony Bennett wasn’t a singer until the 50s,” he replied.

“You are such a dork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The singers are: Billie Holiday, Bing Crosby, Bessie Smith, and Tony Bennett.


End file.
